


near misses

by princesskay



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:40:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25050268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: One night in Adairsville, Georgia opens a rift between Bill and Holden that only widens through the course of Atlanta and Bill's divorce - but not for the reasons Holden might think. A year later, an issue at his apartment causes him to find temporary housing, and Bill surprises him by offering his guest bedroom. Could the arrangement lead to yet another misunderstanding, or will the truth at last come out?
Relationships: Holden Ford/Bill Tench
Comments: 72
Kudos: 148





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt from anonymous on tumblr. Thanks for the inspo! 💛

**March, 1980**

**Adairsville, Georgia**

The oppressive, Georgian heat tapers off into a mild warmth after the sun sets, a welcome reprieve after the day of grueling perspiration. Whiskey hums in Bill’s veins as he leans against the balcony railing of the second floor of their motel, watching smoke rings gust in fragile wreaths from his mouth and into the night air. The crickets answer his reserved yet satisfied silence, chirping out from the darkness and blending into peaceful white noise. 

He spends a lot of time worrying about their work, about his family, about Holden’s unbridled curiosity and boundary pushing, about things he can neither ignore nor control; but tonight, even with the threat of an OPR investigation hovering in the background, he figures he should take this moment for himself. A child rapist is behind bars tonight because of them. An innocent, murdered little girl gets justice. That doesn't happen just every day. 

Bill glances up when the hotel room door creaks open. Glancing over his shoulder, he sees Holden creeping out onto the balcony in his pajamas. 

“I’m done in the bathroom if you want a shower.” Holden says, wrapping his arms around himself as the breeze comes in. 

“Thanks.” Bill says, “I figured you’d be passed out already.”

“I think I’m too keyed up to sleep.”

As Holden draws closer, Bill can see the drunken glaze of alcohol in his eyes and the lively flush on his cheeks. He’d had more than his fair share of drinks at the bar, unveiling a side of himself that Bill doesn’t often get to see. Unraveled, giddy; it’s admittedly endearing.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” Holden murmurs, bracing his fingers around the railing of the balcony and leaning out towards the sweet night air. 

“Yeah.” 

Holden sighs, his eyelids slipping shut against the tender kiss of the breeze. “I’m going to try to remember tonight.”

Bill takes a drag of his cigarette, only slightly suffocating the warmth in his chest. The wind rustles Holden’s hair, toying with the damp strands all disheveled from the shower. He hadn’t bothered to comb it the way he usually does. 

Holden’s eyes open again, and he casts Bill a small, fond smile. 

“This, too.” He whispers, “Right now.”

“Yeah, it feels good to win one.” Bill says, measuring his tone even as Holden shifts closer to him. 

Their arms nudge against one another, transferring warmth past barriers of clothing. Though he should have, Bill doesn’t try to stop himself as he puts his arm around Holden’s shoulders. 

Holden leans closer, uttering a quiet noise that sounds like contentment. He slowly lowers his head to Bill’s shoulder. His hands are wrapped around the metal railing, knuckles white even as the rest of his body goes limp against the contact. 

Bill casts a quick glance down at him, distractedly focusing in on the plush, pink set of Holden’s lips. Somewhere in the back of his mind, half a dozen red flags pop up, telling him that he should retrieve his arm and create some distance. On any other day, he’s good at mitigating his impulses and convincing himself that what he feels towards Holden is something far removed from desire; but he has too much whiskey simmering in his belly right now, and they’re so far from home. He can’t think about the barriers he can easily throw up between them at work, with the idea of his marriage - no matter how wartorn - close at hand. 

Silence, save for the crickets, engulfs the balcony for several minutes. Bill’s cigarette dwindles between his fingers, burning itself out as he forgets the taste of nicotine for the need crawling up the back of his throat. Holden’s body leans warmly into him, and his hair smells good and clean. He’s breathing slowly, delicately, the heat of it gradually seeping through Bill’s shirt to brand his skin. Slowly, the hand closest to Bill’s side peels away from the railing, and slips behind them to curl hesitantly around Bill’s waist. 

Bill swallows hard as the night air creeps around them, intoxicatingly warm and ripe with the smell of spring. It smells of heat, of humid wants he’s been suppressing for far too long. 

Holden lifts his head, and nudges his cheek against Bill’s hand dangling over his shoulder. When Bill doesn’t retract his arm, he turns his mouth against the ridge of Bill’s index knuckle, searing hot breath into the skin. 

Bill curls his hand into a fist as tension ripples through him. 

“Holden?”

Holden’s gaze swivels back to meet Bill’s, both of them quietly questioning what exactly is happening, where this innocuous embrace is leading. 

“What are you …?” Bill begins, and he’s not sure whether he’s asking Holden or himself. 

Holden leans forward, all drunk and feverish, his mouth aiming for Bill’s, but missing by an inch. His lips smear wetly against Bill’s chin while his nose presses hard and reckless into his cheek. His other hand tears away from the balcony railing to clutch at Bill’s chest as they stagger deliriously against one another. 

Bill drops his cigarette, hastily clutching at Holden’s cheek to tear them apart. 

Holden leans into him, panting heavily, a frown creasing his brow. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Bill demands in a choked, raspy whisper. 

“I don’t know. I thought …”

“You’re more drunk than I thought.” Bill says, giving Holden a slight nudge and releasing his flushed cheek. 

They stagger apart, staring at one another in the dim light of the bulb over the hotel door. Holden clutches a hand to his forehead, his eyes wide with horror. His cheeks blanche, color draining rapidly. 

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” He says, his breaths coming harder. He squeezes his eyes shut. “Oh, I feel sick.”

“Shit, come on.” 

Bill grabs him by the arm, and leads him back into the hotel room. Holden staggers behind him, his breaths coming harder and faster even as he clasps a hand over his mouth. Bill pulls him into the bathroom, and guides him to the toilet where he crumples to his knees. 

Bill crouches down beside him, rubbing a hand over his back as Holden heaves into the toilet, vomiting up the deluge of bourbon. His mind is still reeling from the attempted kiss even as he tries to shove it to the back of his mind. 

_ It was a stupid, drunk mistake.  _ He knows he isn’t nearly as wasted as Holden, and thus perhaps exempt from such an excuse; but it’s the only one he can come up with, and he has to cling to it while he can. 

The next day, they wake up in separate beds. 

Bill is up first, getting the shower he hadn’t attempted the night before after cleaning Holden up and putting him to bed. When he comes out of the bathroom, Holden is sitting on the edge of the bed with his head cradled in his hands. 

“You okay?”

“I have the mother of all hangovers.” Holden mumbles into his palms. 

“I think I have some aspirin in my bag.”

“That would be great. Thanks.” 

They don’t talk about it all morning or on the plane ride home. It isn’t until Bill is driving Holden back to his apartment that Holden clears his throat. 

“Bill, I think we should talk about what happened.”

Bill glances away, squinting hard at the road ahead. “We should?”

“Yes. I’ve been thinking about it, and I wanted to apologize. It was presumptive, and uncalled for, and disrespectful of-”

“Holden, this really isn’t necessary.” Bill says, ignoring the clinging burn of Holden’s gaze on him. 

“Bill, I tried to ki-”

“Stop.” Bill says, holding up a hand. “I think it would be better if we just moved on. I get it - you were drunk, and it won’t happen again. Right?”

Silence answers him from across the car. Bill’s chest cringes with doubt as he slowly peeks up from the road to glimpse Holden staring dejectedly at his lap. 

“Right?” He presses. 

Holden nods his head, his teeth scraping at his lower lip. “Right.”

“Okay.” 

The topic isn't broached again, not verbally. Bill does his best to sequester it to the back of his mind along with every other forgettable thing that’s ever happened in his life. But a kiss, even a missed one, isn’t forgettable. It stays, clinging to his skin like oil, coating his insides in that greasy, squirming lather of barely concealed guilty desires, and a longing - a longing that Holden hadn’t been quite so drunk, that he hadn’t been so sloppy, that their mouths could have connected for just a moment. 

Every day as he walks into work, he reminds himself that he’s married. Maybe not happily, but married. Committed. His desires are locked away in a dark room that hasn’t been touched in some time. Whether that’s fair or not, he knows it’s morally correct. He can’t cheat on Nancy, no matter how bad things get, especially not with another man - his coworker for Christ’s sake. 

Then, as if the universe had listened to his pleas for just one time, he gets some distance when the OPR investigation rips wide open with the discovery of the Speck tape. Suddenly, it’s easy to explain why he doesn’t want to be in the same room with Holden any longer, and why he’d rather take an office down the hall with several brick walls between them. Next comes panic attacks and Atlanta, layers of scar tissue and damage. The near miss kiss fades into the background, smothered by lies and hurt feelings, until their professional relationship is lying in tatters and any thought of intimacy between them sinks below the horizon. 

~

**June, 1981**

**Quantico, Virginia**

They have an established routine. On Monday mornings, Holden sorts through the requests from all the local precincts asking for their help, picking out the most urgent, and afterwards, he comes into Bill’s office so that they can decide which one they’ll try to juggle around the next scheduled interview. After their discussion, which usually happens at around eight-thirty, they convene in the conference room with Wendy and Gregg to evaluate the week’s agenda. 

This particular morning, even though he’s in the annex, Bill knows that Holden is late for work because eight-thirty comes and goes without him poking his head into the office with a stack of case files in his arms. After waiting only fifteen minutes, Bill gets up and goes across the hall to the bullpen where Gregg is transcribing their latest interview. 

“Is he in yet?” Bill asks, waving a finger at Holden’s vacant desk. 

Gregg pulls the headphones down around his neck, and shakes his head. “No, I haven’t seen him.”

“Huh.” Bill says, frowning curiously. 

“You think we should call him?” Gregg asks, “It’s not like him to be late.”

“No, uh … let’s give it a couple more minutes.” 

Gregg shrugs, and puts his headphones back on. 

Bill goes back across the hallway, and grabs a cup of coffee from the breakroom before returning to his office. He casts a glance at the telephone as he lights a cigarette, concern rippling through his chest. 

They don’t check up on each other, not the way they used to. Despite Holden’s struggles with his panic attacks, he’s always maintained a strong, reliable facade at work. He doesn’t show up late even if he comes in with dark, sleepless rings under his eyes. His clothes are always clean and ironed, no matter what. He puts his head down and gets through it. 

Bill’s worry escalates as the time creeps closer towards nine o’clock. Just as he’s seriously considering picking up the telephone, a knock at the door drags him out of his concerned reverie. 

“Holden.” Bill says, relief flooding his veins as Holden enters his office. 

“Sorry I’m late.” Holden says, hefting the load of case files in his arms. “Can you help me sort? We’re already behind.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Bill watches Holden closely as Holden drags one of the chairs closer and drops the stack of folders in the middle of his desk. 

“Everything okay?” He asks. 

“Yeah, fine.” Holden says, swiping a file from the top of the stack. “There’s an issue at my apartment. I spent the weekend at a hotel, and then realized this morning that I left all my information for the next interview at home.”

“What kind of an issue?”

“Plumbing.” Holden says, not looking up from his folder. “Then when they went in to fix it, they discovered termite damage so I’m going to be living out of the Holiday Inn for the next few weeks.” 

“Is the landlord offering any kind of compensation?”

“No.” Holden says, scoffing. “It’s up to the tenants to find a temporary place to stay. Unfortunately, I don’t have any family who live in the area so I have to pay for a hotel.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Holden mutters, though he seems more focused on the request in front of him. He scans the police report, and glances up at Bill’s worried expression. “This one has a cooling off period of weeks, if not months. We can write something up, but I don’t think we need to fly out there.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Holden sets aside the folder and grabs the next one. As he flips it open, he frowns at Bill’s lack of initiative. 

“Bill, I asked you to help me. So can you please …?”

“Right. Sorry.” Bill says, swiping the next folder. 

He opens the file to brutal photographs of dead little girls, but his mind is elsewhere. Peeking up at Holden, he tries to gauge his behavior. 

Over the last six months, they’ve been extremely busy with a new influx of requests from local police on top of all their planned interviews. They haven’t had much time to talk. Healing from Atlanta has been slow going. No apologies or heart-to-hearts, but Bill feels like they’re finally getting back to trusting one another again. Only now, he wonders if Holden would have explained his reason for being late of his own free will if Bill hadn’t pressed. 

“This could be something.” Holden says, jarring Bill from his thoughts. “Two over the course of the year, and then another three within the last six months. He’s escalating. What do you have?”

“I, uh …” Bill glances down at the folder, trying to organize his thoughts. 

Holden sighs, “Okay. I see this is why I have this job.”

Ignoring the jab, Bill sets the folder aside, and leans forward to brace his elbows on the desk. 

“I think you should come stay with me.”

Holden’s faint amusement disappears into alarm. A frown creases his brow as his gaze drifts between the case file in his lap and Bill’s serious expression. 

“That’s really generous of you, but-”

“I’m serious. How much is that hotel costing you a night?”

“Well-”

“I have a whole house to myself, a perfectly good guest bedroom.” Bill says, leaning back in his chair and spreading his hands. “Rent free. We’re not here half the time anyway.”

Holden’s eyes soften, a slight smile tugging at his mouth. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Of course. I wish you’d told me sooner.”

“I, um … okay. If it’s not an inconvenience to you that would be great. I don’t want to cause any issues or get in your way or-”

“Not at all.” 

“Okay.” 

They share a quiet gaze, and Bill feels relieved, like some small fraction of the weight he’s been dragging around since Atlanta has lifted. 

“Now that that’s settled, can you please help me?” Holden asks, at length, motioning to the stack of folders. “I don’t see this pile getting any smaller.”

“Yeah.” Bill says, pulling the folder with the dead girls back in front of him. 

He casts a surreptitious glance over his reading glasses as Holden goes back to consuming the information in the folder in front of him. He tries to imagine Holden in his house, in his guest bedroom, at his dinner table - eating breakfast in the morning sunlight that eagerly swamps the kitchen through the window over the sink. The back patio is meant for quiet night time talks, shared beers, stargazing, and it’s been left unoccupied ever since Nancy left. He has to admit, the prospect of not being alone - even for just a couple weeks - feels decidedly good. 

~

Holden checks out of the Holiday Inn with relief and anxiety battling in his chest. As an idealist, not having to pay for a hotel appeals to his sensibilities, and Bill’s unoccupied guest bedroom is the perfect, obvious solution. As someone who drunkenly tried to kiss his partner and dreamed many times after of finishing what he’d started, the possible scenarios in which he could humiliate himself again are almost endless.

He’d spent a lot of Atlanta and a few months afterwards feeling angry and hurt. He and Bill’s relationship had gone through what felt like a paper shredder and came out on the other side a mangled, ugly shadow of what it had once been. Bill continued to cut him off even after the stress of the case receded, and they picked up work on the study where they left off. At first, Holden blamed the way Atlanta ended and the stress from the divorce. He tried to blame the downfall of their friendship on everything except that stupid, missed kiss in Adairsville, but as time dragged on, the cold shoulder Bill purposefully turned on him began to feel more and more personal; and the more Holden attempted to wiggle past the defenses and melt the tension between them, the more the angry friction burned and chafed. 

At some point - he doesn’t really remember when - he’d given up trying. The tension had begun seeping into their work environment, into the interviews, into everything. He had to save some part of their relationship even if it wasn’t the part he cared about most. He had to protect their work from the discord that had exploded into leveled, charred aftermath. Methodically, he silenced every warm, burgeoning urge and desire he’d ever felt for Bill; he pushed it all down, smothered it, killed it. If his thoughts ever turned toward such silly flights of fancy in which Bill returned his feelings, he reminded himself of how impossible that scenario truly was; he reminded himself that Bill was disgusted enough by the attempted kiss to reject him in every way possible since that moment. 

It wasn’t until a few months ago, after the divorce from Nancy finalized, that Bill began to show a vested interest in him again. The cold shoulder has melted somewhat, and Bill tries to talk to him about things that don’t pertain to work. Holden has begun to cautiously believe that their friendship might be salvageable, but he never expected an invitation to stay at Bill’s house. 

As he drives over to Bill’s house with his suitcase in the passenger’s seat, he tells himself not to look too deeply into the gesture. Maybe Bill feels poorly about how he’d treated Holden over the past several months, and maybe he doesn’t. He can’t let the difference matter too much. The moment he starts analyzing Bill’s behavior towards him again, the sooner he’ll fall into that pitiful, old routine of pining for affection and requited desire that he’s never going to get. 

When Holden pulls up to Bill’s house, he sits in the car for a long moment to gather his composure. As he draws a few deep breaths, the front door swings open, and Bill steps out onto the porch with a beer dangling in his hand. 

Holden gets out of the car, and drags his suitcase out of the passenger’s seat. Climbing the steps, he casts Bill a faint smile. 

“Hi.”

“Hey, come on in.” Bill says, motioning for Holden to follow him inside. 

Holden lugs his suitcase across the threshold, and sets it down in the living room. Everything is different from when he was last here for the dinner party, an evening which seems very long ago now. The furniture is leather upholstery, and a large television squats on a sturdy, oak stand that doubles as a bookcase. There isn’t any art on the walls, but the side table holds a picture of Brian next to the ash tray and lamp. 

“You redecorated.” He observes. “I remember there being a green couch.”

“Yeah. You know what I did with it?”

“What?”

“Burned it in the backyard.” Bill says, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“How did that feel?”

“Good. Cathartic.” 

Holden bites back a smile as Bill waves for him to follow down the hallway. 

“Guest bedroom is this way.” Bill says, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that Holden is on his heels. 

Holden drags his suitcase behind them, scanning each doorway that they pass, noting the bathroom, Brian’s room still perfectly made up for a little boy, and the master bedroom with the pile of pillows and disheveled sheets on the bed before they reach the guest room. 

Bill pushes the door open, and motions for Holden to go in ahead of him. 

Holden leaves his suitcase by the door while he surveys the room with his hands tucked in his pockets. The bed sheets are neatly made up, and the carpet appears to have been recently vacuum. It looks like no one has been in here in ages. 

“This is nice.” Holden says, turning to meet Bill’s gaze. “I really appreciate this.”

“It’s the least I can do.” 

Their gazes hold until Bill takes a swig of his beer, and holds the bottle up. 

“You want one?”

“Uh, sure.”

Bill pushes away from the door frame, and walks back down the hallway without another comment. Holden scurries after him to the kitchen where the window over the sink frames the budding sunset. He leans awkwardly against the island as Bill retrieves another beer from the fridge, and searches one of the drawers for a bottle opener. 

He’s used to spending a lot of time with Bill, but it’s always on the road, out of hotels, and inside a professional work setting. He feels out of his depth standing in the privacy of Bill’s kitchen, looking at the single set of dinner dishes drying on the rack, noting the scarcity of food in the fridge aside from two cases of beer. 

“Have you had dinner?” Bill asks. 

“No.”

“Hungry?”

“Yeah, a little.”

“I’m not much of a cook.” Bill says, sliding the fizzing beer across the island to Holden, “But I think I have some leftovers. Chili or spaghetti, or something.” 

“Either sounds good.”

“We could go out if you want.” 

“It’s okay. I’m pretty tired. I’d rather stay in.”

“Your call.” Bill says, taking another slow sip of his beer. “I’ll warn you, though. It gets pretty boring around here after eight o’clock.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m usually asleep right over there by nine.” Bill says, chuckling as he jabs a finger at the couch. 

“That’s okay. I’ll probably make it an early night myself.”

Bill nods, his mouth pursing. He pushes away from the counter, and goes back to searching the refrigerator for leftovers. 

The rest of the night is languishing and stifled. They watch the baseball game on the television, seated on opposite ends of the couch while they eat Bill’s leftover chili. Holden tries to bring up work once, and Bill immediately ends the conversation with the admonition that he tries not to bring work home and Holden should consider taking up that rule himself. 

Holden doesn’t know what else they should talk about, so he quietly draws his knees up to his chest, and snuggles down under one of the throw blankets draped over the back of the couch. 

While Bill watches the final minutes of the baseball game and smokes a cigarette, Holden discreetly watches the neon colors splash across the hard lines and chiseled planes of his profile and light up the haze of smoke pouring from his lips. He doesn’t think about work again, but his thoughts have already traveled down the forbidden path of longing he’d told himself he wouldn't allow. Silencing the dangerous ruminations, he rouses himself from the couch. 

“I think I’m going to hit the shower and go to bed.” He says, stretching his arms over his head as he stands. 

Bill casts him a sideways glance, eyes quickly, faintly burning into the exposed stripe of his belly where his shirt rides up. 

“Okay.” He mutters, squinting back at the television. 

Holden drops his arms, and tugs self-consciously at the hem of his shirt. His belly flips, an unusual spike of suppressed intuition and need. 

“Goodnight.” He says. 

“‘Night.” Bill replies, not looking up from the television.

Holden lingers for a moment, second-guessing the memory of Bill’s gaze hanging onto his skin. Perhaps he’d imagined it. 

He shuffles down to the hall to the guest bedroom, passing the master on his way. In the dim light of the hall, Bill’s sheets are disheveled over a pile of pillows that take up half the mattress. It’s a lonely picture. He has to believe that’s all it is - Bill’s loneliness finally catching up with him. Not necessarily desire, but that simple, human urge to have someone else near him. From a psychological perspective, it’s the only angle that makes sense - and the only one that Holden’s fragile, wounded heart can handle. 

~

The entire first three days are awkward. Bill isn’t used to sharing his space with someone else any longer, let alone with someone for whom he has complicated feelings. Every morning walking into the bathroom and seeing Holden’s toothbrush next to his own is jarring, and hearing someone else moving around the house produces a stark, painful sense of deja vu as sense memory unearths Nancy before it connects to Holden as his house guest. 

Holden keeps mostly to himself. Usually they get home from work late, leaving little time for relaxation or conversation, but in those brief moments that they are sitting quietly on the couch or sharing take-out in the kitchen, Holden seems rigidly anxious. He avoids personal conversations and keeps breaking Bill’s rule not to talk about work. He takes out the trash, cleans up after himself, and performs as perhaps the most well-behaved guest Bill has ever had; but neither of them relax until they’re back at work, inside a shared environment they’re both comfortable with, professional barriers standing between emotions and a chance of vulnerability. 

Bill can’t blame him for setting limits. After Atlanta and the months following, Holden has every right to be cold towards him; it would only be perfectly in line with the way Bill treated him. As such, Bill doesn’t argue or try to cajole Holden into more interaction between them when Holden retires to the guest bedroom early almost every single night. He isn’t sure what he’s doing himself anyways. Trying to make up for his cruelty? Trying to reshape himself in Holden’s eyes? Trying to get closer so he can what - finish what Holden started that night in Adairsville? But that can’t be right because he’d spent way too much time convincing both of them that such a possibility is far beyond the boundaries of the real world. 

On Saturday morning, Bill wakes up to sunlight pouring through the window and the clock reading close to nine. He languishes in bed for nearly half an hour before dragging himself from the warmth of the sheets to make breakfast. 

The coffee pot is gurgling with two cups and the scrambled eggs are thickening in the skillet when Holden wanders into the kitchen, running his fingers through disheveled hair and suppressing a yawn with his knuckles. 

Bill glances up from the stovetop to discreetly take in Holden’s tousled Saturday morning appearance. His cheeks are still rosy from sleep, and his eyes are lacking that sunken, dark color that tend to cling to them during their long work hours. 

“Morning.” Bill says. 

“Good morning.” Holden murmurs, his brow furrowing softly as he shuffles closer to the stove. “You’re cooking breakfast?”

“Yeah, but don’t get too excited. It’s just scrambled eggs and toast.”

“It looks good.” Holden says, peering past Bill’s shoulder at the fluffy, yellow mound of eggs in the pan. 

“I can cook a couple things right.”

Holden smiles faintly as he leans against the counter. He nods at the coffee pot that has just finished brewing. 

“Can I have some?”

“Yep, there’s enough for both of us.” Bill says. He waves the spatula at the cabinet above the coffee maker. “Mugs are in there.”

“Thanks.” Holden says, opening the cupboard. 

He scans the random assortment of coffee cups before picking out two, one with the FBI insignia on it and the other labeled “Niagara Falls” with a picture of the Horseshoe. 

“Have you been?” Holden asks, inspecting the worn ceramic. 

“Yeah.” Bill says, focusing on stirring the scrambled eggs. “We took Brian about two years ago before everything, you know … went to shit.” 

“Oh.” Holden murmurs. 

He starts to put the mug back on the shelf but Bill musters a terse smile. 

“No, it’s okay.”

Holden sets the mug back down on the counter, and turns his gaze back to grabbing the coffee pot and sugar. 

“I’m surprised I still have it, actually.” Bill adds, managing a light tone. “She took all the good stuff - the photo albums, the fresh starts … Brian.” 

The coffee pot sizzles as Holden finishes pouring his cup and sets the carafe back down. Silence extends, interrupted only by the distant chirp of birdsong outside the window. 

Bill silently curses himself, and clears his throat. 

“Can you, um … can you grab two plates from that cabinet over there?” He says, motioning to the next cupboard over. 

Holden gazes at him hesitantly for a moment before opening the door and pulling out two plates. 

Bill busies himself dividing up the scrambled eggs and pulling the slices of bread from the toaster while Holden finishes preparing the coffee. When they’re both seated at the kitchen table with breakfast in front of them, Holden takes a bite of eggs before pushing at them with the tines of his fork. 

Bill can feel Holden’s eyes on him, quietly assessing, taking that little bit of honesty and using it as a cipher to translate everything that Bill has tried valiantly to push deep below the surface. 

“Bill.” He says quietly. 

“Yeah?” Bill asks, angling for a casual tone as he looks up from his plate. 

“Thanks.” Holden whispers, his gaze clinging softly to Bill’s. “For having me here.”

Bill gives a clipped nod. “You’re welcome.”

“I know it’s probably weird or difficult having someone taking up your space when Nancy and Brian aren’t-”

“Holden.” Bill interrupts, pinching at the bridge of his nose. 

Holden stops, and purses his lips.

“Can we please just not talk about it?” Bill asks, his voice a choked whisper. “It’s fine, really. You’re not bothering me by being here, okay?”

Holden gives a slight nod. “Okay.”

“Good.” Bill says, “Any news from your landlord on how much longer it’s going to be?”

“Probably at least another week.”

“Okay. Fine.” Bill says, delving his fork into his eggs. “Stay as long as you like.”

Holden’s mouth quivers with a faint smile as their gazes connect across the table. His eyes are clear, cobalt blue in the yellow-white light streaming past the curtains, open and soft in the raw newness of the day.

For a moment, Bill entertains the idea that Holden doesn’t entirely despise him for the way he’s behaved over the last several months. He leans back in his chair, lights a cigarette, and lets the moment linger before the day accelerates and hardens. 


	2. Chapter 2

The following week at work is too busy to dwell on the weekend’s languishing warmth and budding hope. They have two out-of-state interviews on Monday and Tuesday just before they head out to Wyoming on consult. They’re back by Friday night, a quiet, half-empty flight dimly lit by the canned lights smattering the plane. A lot of folks are almost asleep or quietly reading a book, leaving the hollow surge of the engine as the only disturbance. 

Holden peeks up from the case file at Bill who is smoking in the seat beside him. The tray holds the dregs of a glass of whiskey, ice cubes melted into a watery, amber puddle. It’s his second drink of the flight. 

Biting softly at his lower lip, Holden turns his gaze back to the window where darkness conceals the wreaths of clouds sifting over the wing of the plane. Lights from far below pinpoint the network of cities and the dim outcropping of suburbia, the sight of home growing closer and closer.

_ Home. _ It’s funny how quickly he’d stopped associating that word with his sparse apartment and started thinking of Bill’s guest bedroom instead. He hadn’t thought he would relax into the space so quickly, and he really hadn’t thought Bill would accept him so willingly. But the weekend was calm and warm. Bill spent a lot of time out on the golf course, but he also watched a re-run of  _ Psycho _ with Holden and grilled hamburgers out on the patio on Sunday evening. The weekend is approaching again, and this time, Holden finds himself enjoying the prospect.

Bill clears his throat, and Holden’s gaze swivels from the window back to him. 

“I forgot to tell you.” Bill says, glancing over the rim of his reading glasses. “It’s my weekend with Brian.”

“Oh, right. Do you want me to figure out different arrangements, or-”

“No.” Bill says, a frown flickering on his brow. 

“Oh, I thought you might want father-son time.”

Bill scoffs quietly, and turns his gaze back to the case file in his lap. His shoulders are rigid with easily readable tension, his mouth pursed into a taut line. 

Holden draws in a slow breath. “Do you have any plans?”

“Plans?”

“Yeah. With Brian.”

“Nothing this weekend.”

“Oh, okay.”

Bill’s frown deepens as he focuses on the crime scene photos in front of him. Holden can tell that he isn’t thinking about Wyoming or the case any longer. 

“I guess I’ll just … stay in my room.” Holden says, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. 

“You don’t have to do anything. I’m just warning you. The kid’s got no sense of boundaries.”

“Boundaries?” 

“Yeah.” Bill says, taking a drag of his cigarette. “He likes to get into things that don’t belong to him. So lock the door if you don’t want your stuff played with.”

“I see.” 

They’re quiet for the rest of the flight. When the plane sets down in Fredericksburg, they collect their luggage and cross the quiet, empty bowels of the airport out to the parking garage. Bill drives them home, one hand on the wheel, one hand cradling a cigarette. 

Holden tries not to think about how the weekend might go with the three of them sharing space at Bill’s house, but he can’t get the thought out of his mind even when he’s laying in bed trying to sleep a few hours later. He’s just begun to relax into the atmosphere of Bill’s house, but adding Brian into the dynamic changes things. He doesn’t want to feel like an intruder again. 

~

Nancy drops Brian off around nine o’clock on Saturday morning. Holden watches from the living room window, peeking past the curtains to the driveway where Bill stands by the station wagon with his hands poised on his hips. 

Nancy’s curls dance in the summer breeze, and she tucks them stubbornly behind her ear while she regards Bill with a terse expression. Brian stands between them, his gaze fixed on the ground. Holden can’t hear what they’re saying, but the exchange appears hostile. 

When Bill takes Brian by the hand and leads him up the front steps, Holden paces anxiously until the door opens and they come inside. 

Bill nudges Brian forward. 

“Brian, you remember my partner, Holden?”

Brian peeks up from the floor to cast Holden a wary gaze. 

“Hi, Brian.” Holden says, offering a hesitant smile. 

“Holden is staying here for a few days while there’s construction on his apartment, okay? He’s Dad’s friend so you better play nice.” Bill says, tousling Brian’s hair. 

Brian continues to gaze quietly at Holden, inspecting him with a mature intensity that’s disconcerting coming from an eight year old. 

Bill sighs with suppressed tension before nudging Brian past Holden towards his bedroom. 

“Come on, let’s put your stuff away.” He says. 

Holden lingers in the living room while Bill takes Brian to his bedroom to get settled in. Tucking his hands in his pockets, he bites nervously at his lower lip. Bill had called him a “friend.” 

A few minutes later, Bill comes back into the living room. 

“Sorry about that.” He says, “He’s not good with new people.”

“It’s okay.” 

“Sure.” Bill mutters, shaking his head. “When we adopted, I told myself I was going to be the kind of parent who taught his kid to have manners.”

“It’s fine, really. I’m not offended.”

“Of course you aren’t.” Bill says, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

He lets out a deep sigh as he sinks down to the couch and grabs his cigarettes from the coffee table. Bracing his elbows against his knees, he leans forward to light up. 

“How’s he doing otherwise?” Holden asks, cautiously, sitting down on the cushion beside Bill. 

“Better.” Bill says, dragging his cigarette from his mouth. “I shouldn’t be so negative. The therapy sessions really do seem to be helping.”

“That’s good.” 

“He is talking more. It’s just like I said - he has trouble with new people.”

Holden nods, clasping his hands anxiously over his knees. “He likes to stay in his room?”

“Mostly.” Bill says, his mouth pinching as he stares at the carpet. There’s a tense stretch of silence before he draws in a hitched breath and rubs his fingertips over his forehead. “I’m no good at this, Holden. And I can’t tell anymore if I’ve just given up trying, or if he isn’t interested and never will be.”

Holden swallows hard, his pulse spiking. He hadn’t expected Bill to offer honesty, let alone confide in him about his son. 

Bill takes another drag of his cigarette, and gives a coarse laugh. “I mean, what’s the point of having visitation rights if he doesn’t even want to talk to me all weekend long?”

“Well, kids do follow by example.”

Bill glances up sharply, his eyes flashing with a defensive glare. 

Holden flushes, his heart thudding. “I’m sorry, I-I have no right to judge you.”

“Yeah, you don’t. Not until you have kids of your own.”

“Yes, you’re absolutely right. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Bill’s eyes soften before hardening into steely resignation. He glances away, exhaling a breath past tense lips. “You’re not completely off the mark.”

Holden discreetly gazes at Bill’s rigid profile, wondering if he should cut this conversation short for Bill’s sake or let it go on for his own curiosity. Bill hasn’t been honest with him like this in months, and Brian is only one piece of the puzzle of his muddled emotions. Holden quietly, selfishly wonders what else would come up if he just let Bill keep talking. 

“I don’t know.” Bill says, at length. “Maybe I just have no idea what I’m doing - and I never did.”

“I don’t think any one person is to blame.” Holden says, softly. “When your father gives you no blueprint, it’s nearly impossible to create your own.”

Bill’s eyes rise from the carpet again, weak and misty. He looks shocked by the insight - not for its truth, because it certainly is true, but because of its source. 

“We should do something.” Holden says, clearing his throat. “Tonight, even if it’s just dinner. I think if you made him come out of his room he would do it. Sometimes kids just need some proper, loving authority.”

Bill’s mouth moves silently, either out of alarm or protest, but at last he waves a defeated hand. 

“Okay. Sure. He does enjoy grilling with me.”

“Great.” Holden says, “Let’s do it.” 

~

Holden’s suggestion seems to reinvigorate Bill’s prospects for the weekend. While he makes a list of things they’ll need for dinner tonight, Holden wanders down the hall to where Brian is playing by himself in his room. 

He knocks softly on the doorframe as Brian holds two toy airplanes aloft, quietly spinning them circles above his head. 

“Mind if I join you?” Holden asks. 

Brian pauses from playing, and gazes demurely at Holden, neither protesting nor inviting.

Holden sinks down on his knees, and keeps a safe distance from Brian as he surveys the metal tin full of various types of toy airplanes. 

“These are cool.” Holden says, picking out a few of the little metal planes. “I had some of these as a kid. I would pretend that I was a single, heroic pilot playing chicken with the entire enemy air force.” 

Brian gazes coolly at him, a little frown marring his brow. 

“Do you know what chicken is?” Holden asks, lifting two of the planes to face each other. “It’s when two pilots fly at each other until the last minute, seeing which one will veer away first - which one will “chicken” out.”

“Like this?” Brian asks, thrusting his own plane at Holden’s. 

Holden’s hand instinctively ducks away, and Brian breaks into a smile. 

“Yeah, like that.” Holden says, chuckling, “I guess you won that round.”

They play for another ten minutes before Bill pokes his head in the door. 

“Hey, you two.” He says, “I’m headed for the store. You wanna come with me?”

“I think so.” Holden says, glancing down at Brian. “We can play later, okay?”

“Okay.” Brian says. 

Bill’s mouth tilts in a bewildered smile as Holden climbs to his feet, and Brian follows him instantly, grabbing onto his hand. 

Holden offers Bill a helpless shrug as Brian takes the lead, dragging him down the hallway towards the front door. 

At the store, Holden hangs back while Bill leads them through the aisles with his hand wrapped around Brian’s. He can’t help but smile while Bill shows his son the selections of steak cuts, pointing out the differences, the thicknesses, and the marbling. Some of the tension that he’d been carrying around for the past two weeks lifts for a moment as he stands outside this moment, seeing Bill as a father rather than his partner, a man trying to connect with his son rather than the rough exterior he often displays.

Later that day, Brian drags Holden out into the backyard to help him hunt for additions to his rock collection. He knows all the different types of stone and minerals, a wealth of knowledge contained inside his young mind that Holden hadn’t expected. He lets Brian go on, listening to the boy talk more in the space of an hour than he had in the entire day. 

When evening approaches, Bill preps the grill and the steaks before calling them in from playing. Brian immediately goes into the house to wash his hands before going back out to the patio to help Bill with dinner. 

Holden grabs a few beers from the fridge, and carries them out to the table where a warm summer breeze carries the mouth-watering scent of grilling steaks and the sinking sun casts golden light across the yard. He silently nurses his beer while Bill and Brian cook, not wanting to interrupt their bonding time. 

After dinner, Holden cleans up the dishes while Bill puts Brian to bed. The sun is almost completely sunken below the treeline as he puts the last plate in the dishwasher, and tosses the kitchen towel over his shoulder. 

Bill wanders into the kitchen to grab another beer from the fridge. 

“He’s down?” Holden asks. 

“Yep. Out like a light.” Bill says, twisting the cap off his beer. “You wore him out good.”

Holden laughs softly, and turns to lean his hips back against the kitchen counter. “He wore me out, I think.”

Bill takes a sip of his beer, his expression sobering. Turning the bottle around his hands, he lets his gaze drop to the tiles. 

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“You were really good with him today. He needs that.” 

“Yeah, well, he’s a smart kid.” Holden says, shrugging, “And I know what it’s like to be the one who’s always playing alone.”

Bill’s brow flickers with a frown, but the telephone rings before the conversation can go on. Setting his beer on the counter, Bill grabs the receiver. 

“Hello? …. Yeah, just a minute.” Bill says, pulling the phone away from his ear, and directing it towards Holden. “It’s for you. I think it’s your landlord.”

“Oh, thanks.” Holden says, accepting the receiver. “Hello?”

“Mr. Ford?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry to call you so late. My name’s Laura. I’m calling from the Essex House office in regards to the construction on your apartment.”

“Hi, yes.”

“The workers are estimating they’ll be finished by Monday.” The woman replies, “We’re letting everyone know they can move back in by Tuesday just to be safe.”

“Okay, thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. Have a good night.”

“You, too.”

He hangs up the phone, and casts Bill a faint smile. 

“Looks like the sleepover is coming to an end.” He says.

“When can you move back in?”

“Tuesday.” 

Bill nods, his jaw rippling with a muted clench. Holden glimpses the flash of something like disappointment in his eyes before he takes a sip of his beer and squints at the window where the sunset is lapsing into an array of pink and purple. 

Silence settles on the kitchen, an undercurrent of unspoken tension rippling beneath the surface. Holden is used to Bill’s frustration and reticence. He’s grown accustomed to reading between the lines, parsing meaning from stubborn silence, avoiding saying something that might extend the distance between them even further; but he can’t decipher tonight’s resilience, it’s sudden sharp edges in relation to what he’d presumed was overall a good day - not without upsetting his assurity of Bill’s feelings about him.

Bill draws in a breath and shifts his gaze back to Holden. Mustering a thin smile, he nods for Holden to follow him back out onto the patio. 

“You want another?” He asks, lifting his beer. 

“Sure.” 

“Help yourself.” Bill says, motioning to the refrigerator on his way out the back door. 

Holden stands in the dim, yellow light of the kitchen for a long moment after Bill disappears back out onto the patio, his heart thudding with smothered intuition. His eyelids flutter shut against the easily recalled memory of the summer breeze that had swept across his cheeks on the balcony of that motel in Adairsville, the graze of Bill’s knuckles against his lower lip, the irrepressible urge that had crawled up his drunken belly, into his chest, his limbs, spurring him to action. The memory is paired with the consequences of that attempted kiss - Bill’s stoic rejection, a brick wall that stood imperviously between them until recently. As much as he wants to believe that after the last two weeks Bill doesn’t hate him anymore, the compiled evidence of more than a year of dismissal and coldness is a harsh rebuttal. Only, if that’s true, then why does it seem like Bill is so dismayed by the thought of his stay coming to an end?

Grabbing a beer from the refrigerator, Holden yanks the back door open, and steps out onto the patio. His heart is lunging in his chest, demanding answers. 

Bill sits at the table, a cloud of smoke drifting from his lips. He glances up when the door swings shut behind Holden, his pale eyes reaching across the patio to quickly read the conflict tearing up Holden’s chest and across the quiver of his jawline. 

“What is it?” He asks, putting his beer aside on the table.

Holden draws in a shivering breath. “Why did you invite me here?”

Bill’s brow furrows, his jaw clenching defensively. “What do you mean?”

“Why did you ask me to come here?” 

“I told you. You shouldn’t have to pay for a hotel when I have a guest bedroom that’s empty and-”

“I know the logistics.” Holden interrupts, “I’m talking about the ‘why’, Bill. Why you’re suddenly acting like we’re friends again when you’ve done nothing but cut me off and ignore me for the past year.” 

Bill’s gaze focuses on the ashtray as he crushes the remnants of his cigarette. The dull hum of crickets drones over the silence, but Holden can hear the rush of his heartbeat, all the wounded edges tearing open, his composure falling behind in a cloud of dust. 

Bill rises slowly from the patio chair, his eyes soft yet guarded. 

“You’re right. I think I owe you an apology.” He says, quietly. 

Holden scoffs a laugh, and glances away. “You think?”

“I know I do.”

Holden swallows back the lump forming in the back of his throat, and hesitantly flicks his gaze back to Bill. 

“I was under a lot of stress with the divorce, but that’s no excuse. It isn’t fair to you, the way I treated you this past year.”

Holden nods, clenching his jaw against the sting and quiver of emotion. 

“I’m sorry.” Bill adds, quietly. “Can you accept that?”

“I don’t know, Bill. Do you want me here?” Holden whispers, his voice trembling as Bill approaches him at a gradual, cautious gait.

“Yes. I wouldn’t have offered the invitation if I didn’t.”

“I’m just finding that hard to believe because I thought you hated me.”

“Hated you?” Bill asks, his frown deepening as he draws closer, leaving no more than a foot of space between them. 

“Maybe 'repulsed by' is a better way to put it. For what happened in Adairsville. That night when I …”

Bill sighs, his gaze dropping to the ground for a moment. When he looks back up, his expression is pinched with conflict. 

“No, I never  _ hated  _ you, and you never disgusted me.”

“Well, it sure felt like it.” Holden says, a clipped, mirthless laugh scraping from his throat. 

“Fuck. I can’t blame you.” Bill says, shaking his head grimly. “I just thought if I pushed you as far away from me as I could that it would ….”

Holden’s thundering pulse seems to suspend for a few, breathless moments as Bill’s explanation trails off, leaving insinuation dangling in the humid air between them. 

Bill presses his thumb and forefinger to his eyelids, and breathes in slowly. As his hand drags away from his jaw, he releases a whimpered laugh. 

“I thought I could force myself into feeling differently.” 

Holden blinks. Every conclusion he’d ever drawn about Bill’s opinions and feelings towards him pulls a dizzying, one hundred and eighty degree turn, running wildly in the opposite direction, plunging into realization he’d spent months barring himself from. 

Bill slowly turns his gaze back to Holden, the weight of his eyes falling with crushing force on his quivering composure. 

“I’ve never been so fucking wrong in my life.” He whispers.

Holden tries to breathe, to move, to protest, but he’s frozen in place as Bill closes the scant space between them with one stride, and catches his flushed cheeks in both palms. The moment accelerates, slipping past him at the speed of light, melding into a blur of coarse hands clutching his jaw and hot breath gusting on his cheeks for a split second before the warm, damp weight of Bill’s mouth settles with frustrated urgency on his own. 

Holden gasps into Bill’s mouth as the kiss lands, slick and hot and panting. The hungry, stamping power of it leaves him paralyzed, both hands clutching at the front of Bill’s shirt to stabilize his quaking knees, to convince himself that this moment is real and not some visceral dream. On impulse, his mouth slides open, eager and desperate, and he tastes the lingering smoke and beer on Bill’s mouth, the hot, sweet friction of teeth grazing his lower lip. A moan rises unbidden from the back of his throat as the taste and sensations explode across his repressed senses, validating every desire he’s ever had, tearing apart every fantasy and replacing it with vivid reality. 

Bill takes another shuffled step forward, and their heaving chests collide. One hand clutches at Holden’s cheek with the other slips behind his nape, nails scraping across his scalp in an urgent attempt to get their mouths even closer. His mouth angles harder against Holden’s, sucking off Holden’s lower lip before his tongue pushes past the faintly quivering protest of his mouth. 

Holden whimpers as Bill’s tongue thrills across his palate. It’s all he had ever wanted, but his mind is racing with confusion and panic, an untapped vein of anger exploding to the surface. His trailing mind catches up with his reeling body, freezing the heated inertia in his veins. 

Planting his hands against Bill’s chest, Holden tears himself away from the forceful kiss. Their mouths disconnect with a slick gasp, and their breaths surge heavily back and forth in the narrow space between them. 

Bill clutches at his nape even as Holden wrenches away, sucking in a trembling breath. 

“Wait, wait.” Holden pants, squeezing his eyes shut against the fiery look in Bill’s eyes. 

“What?” Bill asks, his thumb stroking attentively at Holden’s flushed cheek. 

“What … what are you doing?”

Bill is quiet just long enough for Holden to crack his eyelids open, anxiously peeking up at his bewildered expression. 

“What am I doing?” Bill echoes, “What does it look like?”

“No.” Holden says, twisting free of his embrace. “I mean what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Bill’s hands fall limply to his sides, and his brow furrows with confusion and rising disbelief. 

“Holden, I- … I don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand?” Holden repeats, his voice rising with indignance. “ _ You  _ don’t understand? Bill,  _ I  _ don’t understand! I’m so fucking confused right now.”

“Okay, you’re right.” Bill says, holding up his hands, “Fuck. This is moving way too fast.”

“Yeah, it is.” Holden says, scraping a hand through his hair and squeezing at his nape. He blinks out at the darkening shadows of the yard, his limbs buzzing with conflicting messages of anger, hurt, and desire.

“I can’t fucking believe this.” He whispers, tears stinging his eyes. 

Bill gazes at him quietly, his eyes glistening in the low light. His mouth is pursed into a thin line and his hands are clenched at his sides, his own posture as defensive of his needs as Holden is. 

“I-I wanted you so much.” Holden whispers, his voice quivering. “Fuck, Bill. Last year I would have given anything for … for you to do that.”

Bill lowers his head, his chest rising with a hitched breath. He doesn’t offer an explanation, and Holden can’t tell if he appreciates the cowed silence or if it makes him even angrier. 

“You cut me off. Over and over again. You made me believe that  _ this _ -” Holden says, waving a hand between them, “-was never going to be a possibility. So I made myself get over you. I forced myself to stop wanting it, to stop even thinking about it. And now … _ now  _ you decide you want me?”

Bill lets out a helpless breath. “What do you want me to say, Holden? I’m sorry again? I’m sorry I didn’t come to my senses sooner? I’m sorry for all of it? I am, all right? I wish I could take it all back.”

“I don’t know.” Holden says, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you can say.”

“Fine. You want me down on my knees, begging?” Bill demands, throwing up his hands impatiently.

“ _ No _ .” Holden says, sharply, clutching a hand over his eyelids as tears press hot and harsh. “I don’t want any of that.”

“Then what do you want?”

Holden drags his hand away from his face, and sucks in a slow breath against his shuddering lungs. The kiss of the breeze soothes the flustered heat on his cheeks, the biting line of a tear traveling towards his quivering chin. 

“I want to undo everything.” He whispers, “That night in Adairsville. Atlanta. Every single time you’ve ever hurt me.”

Bill’s mouth turns down into a thin, trembling line, but the frustration melts away from his eyes, leaving behind glistening remorse. 

“I wish I had never tried to kiss you. I wish I had never wanted you.” Holden continues, his voice hardening. “Because I am sick of living like this - reacting to you and your every whim, whichever fucking way it happens to be turning at the moment. Maybe you want me right now, but what about tomorrow? Or next week? Or next year? I don’t want to wait around for you to change your mind again.”

“I’m not going to.” Bill says, holding out an imploring hand. “Come on, Holden. You’re not even going to give it a chance?”

Holden shakes his head. “I can’t do this. I’m going to get my stuff and go now. I think it’s best if I get a hotel until Tuesday.”

“What? You’re going to leave tonight?” Bill asks, casting a harried glance at his watch. “It’s almost nine o’clock.”

“I’ll figure something out.” 

Holden turns to go back into the house, but Bill catches him by the elbow. 

“Holden, wait.”

Holden pulls his arm free of Bill’s grasp as he whirls around. He takes a stumbled step back against the patio door, his heart nearly bolting from his chest as Bill steps closer, cutting off his escape.

“At least stay tonight.” Bill says, “I’ll help you pack up tomorrow if you want, but it’s too late to be trying to find a hotel on the weekend.”

Holden cuts his gaze away toward the yard where the shadows have descended, leaving only the flicker of fireflies to scare away the darkness. His chest rises with a shuddering inhale, his veins caving on the realization that Bill is right. He’s too overwrought to leave tonight and drive across town until he finds new lodging; right now, all he wants is to crawl into bed and forget for a few hours about the devastation and disappointment between them. 

“Okay.” He whispers. 

“Okay.” Bill echoes, relieved. “Good.”

He takes a slow step backward, and Holden turns to wrest the door open hastily. Leaving his unopened beer on the counter, he marches down the hallway, blinded by tears. Once inside the guest bedroom, he pushes the door shut, and crawls into bed still fully clothed. He pulls the sheets over his head, presses his face to the pillow, and prays that neither Bill nor Brian can hear him breaking down. 


	3. Chapter 3

Bill sleeps fitfully that night, spending a few hours tossing and turning after he finished off another beer on the patio and headed to bed. He wakes the next morning to the sunlight and birdsong, another bright summer day preceding the one before it. 

Rolling onto his back, he casts an empty stare at the ceiling with regret swamping his chest. He exhales a heavy sigh, and mentally pummels himself for that stupid, reckless kiss last night. He should have known that one little, half-assed apology wouldn’t be good enough to placate Holden’s hurt feelings. He should have known how ridiculous he sounded when he pretended as if his behavior had been for both their sakes. He’s getting a taste of his own medicine now, and he doesn’t have a place to complain. 

Dragging himself out of bed, Bill checks in on Brian before going into the kitchen to start breakfast. Brian is already awake despite the early hour, quietly playing with his toys on the disheveled sheets of bed. 

“Hey, you wanna help Dad make breakfast?” Bill asks, leaning in the doorway. 

Brian sets aside his toys, and climbs off the bed to join him.

“What do you think?” Bill asks, searching the cupboards. “I think some pancakes are in order.”

“Pancakes?” Brian echoes, his eyes brightening. 

“Yeah, I think that sounds good, too.”

Bill pulls one of the kitchen chairs over to the counter for Brian to stand on so that he can reach the mixing bowl. They spend the next half hour stirring in the ingredients, whipping the batter, and pouring out differently shaped pancakes into the skillet. They’re pulling the last star-shaped pancake off the pan when Holden shuffles into the kitchen. 

“Good morning.” Bill says. 

“‘Morning.” Holden says, stiffly. 

He pauses in the doorway, his guarded expression softened by the lingering haze of sleep. Their gazes collide from across the kitchen, an exchange passing wordlessly beneath the hum of silence. 

Unbothered by the thick tension, Brian crawls down from the chair. 

“Holden, Dad and I made pancakes.” He announces, grabbing Holden by the hand to drag him over to the platter of pancakes sitting on the counter. 

Holden’s gaze brushes past Bill to cast Brian a fond smile. “Wow, these look amazing. You did a really good job.”

“I made this one.” Brian says, pointing at the lumpy, heart-shaped pancake. “It’s for you.”

“For me? That’s so nice of you.”

Brian smiles, brightly. “Are you going to play with me again today?”

Holden’s warm gaze cools as it tersely rises back up to meet Bill’s.

Bill crosses his arms and leans back against the counter. He raises a questioning eyebrow. 

Holden sighs, and rustles Brian’s hair. “Of course I am.”

After breakfast, Brian kidnaps Holden to the backyard while Bill cleans up the kitchen and starts a load of laundry. He puts away all the toys in Brian’s room, and makes the bed with a clean change of sheets. Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, he inspects the three new rocks that Brian had dug out of the back yard last night and displayed like trophies in the night stand. Turning each one over in his hand, Bill exhales a sigh. 

Holden is right. He’d let his denial go on for too long, had let it fester and turn into poison. He’d clung to his own pride until everything came crashing down, until it took seeing his son happy and playing with someone else for the first time in nearly a year to realize what he had standing right in front of him. He should have let himself see the truth long ago, before it was too late. Maybe now all Holden will ever be his partner and a friend to his son when these past two days, the three of them in this house together, was what he had wanted all along - a little slice of the domestic bliss inside these four walls that he had once envisioned with Nancy; instead, he’s left with nothing.

Setting the rocks back down, Bill gathers his composure, and goes out back to check on Brian and Holden. 

Early in the day, the sun isn’t quite scorching yet, and the sky overhead is pure blue and cloudless. Brian’s laughter carries on the breeze as Holden pushes him on the swingset, sending his sneakers kicking towards the sky. 

Bill stands on the patio, a faint smile tugging at his mouth, as he watches the two of them. After a minute, Holden notices him observing, and stops pushing Brian until the swing eases to stop. He leans down to say something to Brian before he trudges across the yard to the patio. 

“Hey.” Bill says. 

“I just came up to get some water.” Holden says, his eyes squinting against the sheen of sweat on his brow. 

Bill bites his lower lip as Holden brushes past him, and goes into the house. Silently, he shoves down his own disappointment. He’d gotten himself to the point of accepting his desires for Holden, and he can get himself past it, too. He’s lived through a lot worse. 

Holden comes back out onto the patio a moment later with a glass of water. He takes a long drink, and exhales a sigh, wiping his knuckles across his mouth. 

“Smooth move, getting your kid to manipulate me into staying here.” He says. 

Bill casts him a frown. “I didn’t tell him to say that. He genuinely likes you - which you should take as a compliment because he doesn’t warm up to a lot of people that quickly.”

Holden’s mouth puckers with a faint smirk. “I know.”

Bill shakes his head. “So, you’re still pissed off.”

“A little bit.”

“How long is that going on for?”

“I don’t know.” Holden says, giving a nonchalant shrug. “Until I get it over it, I guess.”

“No ETA on that, huh?”

Holden shakes his head. 

“Are you leaving tonight?” Bill asks, his voice dropping to a whisper without intention. He scuffs his shoe against the cement slab of the patio, focusing on the smear of dirt. 

“I probably should.”

“You don’t have to. I’m not going to try to kiss you again. I know it was stupid of me.” 

Holden is quiet for a long moment, and Bill gradually looks up from the ground to discreetly inspect his rigid profile. His cheeks are flushed pink, but Bill can’t tell whether it’s from exertion beneath the sun or their conversation. He wants to kiss him again, despite the promise he just made. 

“It’s just going to be awkward.” Holden says, finally. “Besides, it’s only another day before I can move back into my apartment. I can pay for two more nights in a hotel.”

“Fine.” Bill says, managing an indifferent tone. “Do whatever you want.”

Holden casts him an uncertain gaze, as if he had expected an argument. Before he can offer a reply, Brian shouts his name from across the yard. He clears his throat. 

“Well, I’m being summoned.” He says, giving a lopsided smile.

“Yeah, you should probably get back to it.” 

Holden drinks the last of his water, and leaves the cup on the patio table before jogging back across the yard to where Brian is crouched in the sandbox. 

Bill sits down at the table, and lights a cigarette. He watches them play until the sound of the washer buzzing from inside the house pulls him away. He tries to keep himself busy until lunchtime when Holden and Brian come in from the yard to wash up. 

After they eat lunch, Holden uses the telephone in the kitchen to call a few different hotels and book a room for the next two nights. Bill ignores the sound of his voice while he helps Brian pick out a movie to watch from his VHS collection. 

_ I shot my shot. It’s the best I could do.  _ He thinks. Like most days, he doesn’t believe his own reassurances. 

~

Nancy comes to pick Brian up that evening after dinner around eight o’clock. Brian is reticent and downcast as he says goodbye to Holden, and Bill leads him out the front door. 

“Will Holden come play with me next time I'm here?” He asks, staring at his shoes as they trudge down the front steps toward the station wagon idling in the driveway. 

“I don’t know.” Bill says, “He has to go back to his own house.”

“Why?”

“That’s where he lives.”

Brian pauses at the bottom of the steps, his lower lip quivering. 

“Hey, come on.” Bill says, crouching down beside him. He pushes his thumb under Brian’s chin, gently guiding his shimmering eyes up from the ground. “I’m sure if you invited him over he would be happy to come play with you.”

Brian sniffles. “Okay.”

“Chin up, okay?”

“Hey, you two.” Nancy says, circling the station wagon with a hesitant smile. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Bill says, rising to his feet, and giving Brian a firm pat on the back. “We’re fine.”

“Brian, honey, what’s wrong?” Nancy asks, ignoring Bill’s reassurance as he bends down to smooth a tear from Brian’s cheek. 

“Everybody lives in different places.” Brian whispers. 

Bill braces his hands against his hips as the tearful observation clutches at his chest. He can’t say that he feels any differently. 

Nancy casts him a worried glance as she straightens and pulls Brian into a hug against her. Brian wraps his arms around her waist, and buries his face in her belly. 

“Is everything okay?” Nancy asks, keeping her voice low. 

Bill shakes his head. “I don’t know. Holden is staying here right now because of an issue at his apartment, and Brian really took a shine to him.”

“Holden. Really?” Nancy asks, her mouth tipping in amusement. 

“Yeah, he’s really good with him as it turns out.” Bill says, shrugging haplessly. “Don’t let this fool you. We had a good weekend.”

“Well, that’s good to hear.” Nancy says, and it sounds like she means it for once. She pats Brian on the back. “Come on, Brian. All good things must come to an end.”

Brian pulls away from her waist, rubbing his knuckles over his eyes. 

“See ya, buddy.” Bill says, bending down to plant a kiss on the top of his head. 

He stands at the foot of the steps as Nancy straps Brian into the backseat and climbs behind the wheel of the car. As they drive away, Bill can see Brian’s head pop up above the backseat to peer back at him, and he offers a small wave. 

Once the station wagon turns the corner and disappears out of sight, Bill climbs the steps back to the front porch. When he steps back into the house, Holden has his suitcase packed and standing near the door while he sits on the edge of the couch tying his shoelaces. 

“He really didn’t want me to leave, did he?” Holden asks, smiling bemusedly. 

“No, he didn’t.” 

Holden ties his other shoelace, and straightens with a sigh. Bracing his hands against his knees, he glances up to catch Bill’s quiet, tense expression. 

“What?” He murmurs. 

Bill puts his hands on his hips, and glances away. His heart thuds as if it’s churning through molasses, fighting back against every prideful, self-preserving impulse he’s ever had.

“I don’t want you to leave either.” He says. 

Holden climbs to his feet, a frown knitting his brow. “We talked about this.”

“I know. But it’s only one more day. I don’t see any reason why you should go and pay for a hotel when I’m not in any way kicking you out of my guest bedroom.”

“Because, if I stay here one of two things is going to happen.” Holden says, “Either we’re going to have a fight, or I’m going to do something … something stupid and reckless.”

“Great.” Bill says, holding up his hands. “Then stay. Fight with me if you want to. Tell me how much you hate me for the way I’ve treated you. I can handle it.”

Holden blinks, and scoffs in disbelief. “You want me to yell at you?”

“Yes. If it gets this off your chest and helps you get past it. Trust me, this isn’t the first time I’ve fucked up something good and paid the price. I’m a pro at it by now.”

Holden shakes his head, and scrapes a hand through his hair. His mouth moves in wordless protest, nothing coming up but the exhilarated flush on his cheeks. 

“You know what my son said to me just now?” Bill presses, jabbing a finger toward the driveway. 

“No. What?”

“He said, ‘everyone lives in different places’. You, me, Nancy. He just wants everyone he loves to be together, and I can’t blame him. I’m really sick of it, Holden. Of being here every night by myself, wondering if I’m going to spend the rest of my life like this, just going through the motions every fucking day until things get better. But they’re not going to get better unless I do something about it - I just didn’t see a reason to until this week.”

“And this is you doing something about it?” Holden asks, motioning wildly between them. “Putting the future of your happiness on my shoulders, on whether or not I can forgive you?”

“No. For fuck’s sake, stop twisting my words.”

“I’m not twisting them. You’re guilt-tripping me into staying here.”

Bill scrubs a hand over his face, exhaling a growl of frustration. He paces away, squeezing his hands into fists at his sides. He wants to turn around, grab Holden by the shoulders, and give him a shake to knock the conflicted feelings bouncing around in his own chest into Holden’s head. He can’t seem to get the right words out verbally. 

“You told me to fight with you.” Holden says, his voice softening. “This is me fighting.”

Bill pauses, turning to cast Holden a tense gaze. “Good. Because I deserve it, right?”

Holden’s gaze drops towards the floor. He gives a slight shake of his head. “I don’t know, Bill. Part of me thinks that you do.”

“What about the other part?”

Holden’s eyes lift gradually, shimmering in the low light of dusk. “Part of me can’t get over you - not the way I said I did.”

“Does it make you feel better that wondering which one it is has been eating me up inside for months now?”

Holden purses his lips against a quiver. “A little.”

Bill gives a choked laugh. “That’s all? Just a little?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t want you to suffer. I just … I don’t know if I can do this right now. I don’t know if I can trust you or not.”

“Well, I can’t fucking blame you.” Bill says, rubbing hard fingertips across his brow and pressing his eyes shut. “I don’t trust myself right now.”

Holden is quiet for a long moment before the weight of his approaching presence draws Bill’s moist eyelids open again. His breath catches as Holden shifts closer, leaving barely enough room between them for their chests to expand with frightened breath without brushing. His breath spills warmly against Bill’s cheek, the slight wisp of it threatening to make every defense inside him buckle. 

“Me either.” Holden whispers, his teeth scraping gently across his lower lip as he reaches soft fingertips inward to touch Bill’s chest. 

Bill’s chest shudders beneath the contact, and his own hand rises instinctively to clutch Holden’s palm to him. 

“I shouldn’t do this.” Holden says, the rigid posture of his voice wilting into a tremble. 

Bill leans in to kiss him before the reminder can make either of them stop. As their mouths meet in a heated collision, he clutches a hand to Holden’s nape, and squeezes Holden’s knuckles closer to his chest with the other. Sweet, wet heat spills across his mouth into delicious friction, their gasping breaths impinged between biting, stroking lips, their tongues mangled into sloppy curls of unraveled hunger. 

Holden shudders against him, a moan working up from the back of his throat to vibrate into Bill’s searching tongue. He clutches at Bill’s shirt to pull himself closer, not wrenching away as he had last night on the patio. The taste of him is even sweeter this time with the threat of it being taken away forever still dangling fragilely between them, and Bill chases after it insatiably, his kisses raining down harder and fiercer. 

Grabbing at Holden’s waist, Bill pulls him around until they meet with the wall, and Holden’s shoulders thud against the paint. A gasp jostles between them, but their mouths hang on, the kiss fragmenting into staggered, desperate strokes. Bill pins Holden in place with both hands clutched at his jaw, forcing his head back and mouth open to the invasive push of his tongue. 

Holden submits beneath him, sinking down against the wall with both hands tangled at the front of Bill’s shirt to steady himself beneath the deluge of kisses. His soft whimpers grow louder when Bill sucks hard on his lower lip. Opening his mouth, he gasps in a hiccuped breath as the pace of Bill’s kisses slows, and he traces Holden’s quivering lips with the tip of his tongue.

As Bill’s tongue reaches the end of its circuit, they both slow to a pause, gazing back and forth at one another in the growing shadows of the house. Staggered breaths punctuate the silence, blustering gently at each other's cheeks with exhilarated warmth. 

“Tell me you’re not leaving now …. That it isn't too late.” Bill whispers, his voice coming out all choked and unrecognizable. 

Holden’s eyes are wide and glassy blue, peering up at Bill with bare need. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, and his nostrils flare with a deep, shaky breath. He shakes his head. 

Bill nods, pressing his eyes shut against a crippling wave of relief. He lowers his forehead to Holden’s, impressing the sensation of his skin and his breath into his mind; it feels like redemption at long last, a hard-fought freedom racing through his veins next to reawakening blood. 

“Bill …” Holden whispers, his fingertips grazing Bill’s jawline. 

Bill opens his eyes to Holden leaning in, kissing him softly on the mouth. He sighs into it, his chest blooming with fresh need as Holden’s mouth plants a series of gentle yet needy kisses all over his mouth, his chin, his cheeks. 

“I want you.” Holden whispers, his voice ragged in between the slick presses of his mouth. “I want you to touch me right now - please, I want you so bad.”

Bill draws back, his mouth burning with Holden’s kisses and determination anew. 

Holden stares at him worriedly for a moment before Bill drags him away from the wall and nudges them toward the hall. 

“Not here.” Bill says, taking a few suggestive steps backwards toward the bedroom. 

Holden’s trembling mouth forms a smile as he breaks into motion. Hand clutching Bill’s, he follows him down the darkened hallway to the master bedroom where the dusky light spilling through the window casts a milky gray haze over the tangled sheets. 

Bill curls an arm around Holden’s waist, and drags him into another firm kiss. As their mouths meet again, lips stroking at a confident, even pace, he guides Holden down against the sheets. Holden’s mouth trembles with a groan as Bill crawls between his legs, laying his body over Holden’s, pinning him down to the sheets with his mounting desire. Bill feels the hard edge of Holden’s erection collide with his own, sparking a thrill of satisfaction through him that’s unmatched by anything else. 

Holden groans softly as Bill severs the kiss, and leans back far enough to slip his hands under the hem of his shirt. Pushing the fabric back, Bill watches the need and pleasure shift across his face while leaning down to brand a kiss against Holden’s exposed belly. 

Holden shivers, his back arching to the delicate touch. As Bill continues kissing his way across the stripe of tender skin just above his waistband and further up to where his ribs expand with gulping breaths, he pulls desperately at the shirt to get it out of the way. Bill urges Holden’s tugging hands, following the path of the shirt with his mouth and leaving wet kisses along the blunt, swelling edges of his ribs pressed to fragile skin, the quiver at the crown of his belly, the jagged rise of his sternum. At last, the shirt comes off over Holden’s head and his hands lapse above him, tangling up in the sheets to fight the waves of need while Bill’s kisses scathe his puckered nipple. 

“Oh my god-” Holden whispers, his voice raspy and urgent. 

His gaze swings downward to watch as Bill’s tongue flicks against his nipple, leaving the flesh rigid and gleaming. 

A groan surges up the back of Bill’s throat, the sound of need crushing the last of his misgivings. The moment is surging beyond his control, his resistance flagging in the distance, but he doesn’t care to put up a fight. Holden is under him, skin branded with his kisses, and it’s all he had ever wanted - all he had ever told himself he didn’t need, but wanted so deeply, so recklessly, so completely. 

He kisses Holden again as he locates the fastenings of his trousers. Holden goes still beneath him, breaths fluttering helplessly against Bill’s cheeks while the zipper grinds open, the fabric peels back, and his hardened cock emerges against the thin barrier of his briefs. 

Bill sucks off his lower lip and leans his forehead against Holden’s. They both look down between them as Bill tugs the trousers out of the way, and hooks his fingers on the waistband of the underwear. 

Holden’s belly quivers, skin inhabited by butterflies and desperation. He’s obviously twitching beneath the layer of fabric, but the intensity of his need doesn’t fully manifest until Bill pulls the briefs away from his swollen cock. 

“Jesus.” Bill whispers, his breath catching the back of his throat. 

Holden whimpers, his mouth pursing hard against the sound of panicked need. His gaze swings back up to take in Bill’s shocked awe, and a flush spreads on his cheeks. 

Bill uncurls his fingers from the edge of the fabric, hesitantly reaching for the pulsing length of flesh. Stiff silence extends, anticipation building, until his fingertips graze the shaft. Tender, hot skin twitches beneath the caress, veins pulsing harder, need crushing through him, shoving a tortured moan to the brink of his lips. 

“Oh, fuck-” Holden whimpers, his hips curling toward Bill’s touch. 

The needy cry sends Bill bowling past his hesitation, past any insecurity that he doesn’t quite know what he’s doing. All he knows is that he wants this, that he wants Holden more than anything, and that the desire is stronger than every other impulse he’s ever had. 

Leaning back, he grabs each of Holden’s feet to tug his shoes off and send them thudding to the floor followed by the bunched heap of his briefs and trousers.

Holden stretches his knees open against the sheets, and casts Bill a simmering gaze through the shadows. His teeth pinch at his lower lip, a barely controlled, coy look that ripples with hungry desperation just underneath. His cock pulses against his belly, pinkly divine and swollen.

Bill sinks forward to drop a row of kisses along Holden’s pale, inner thigh, working his way slowly up along his bare hip, against the seam between his thigh and groin. Holden shudders beneath the gradual ascension of his mouth, whimpering softly through each branding kiss, urging the notion of what they both want closer and closer to reality. When at last Bill’s breath spills hot and hitched across the length of his cock, his fingers rush down instinctively to clutch at Bill’s nape. 

“Fuck …” He groans, back arching eagerly to the caress of Bill’s fingers around the base of his cock. “Yes, Bill …”

Bill tightens his grasp around the pulsing shaft, dragging it up from Holden’s quivering belly and towards his mouth. The tip gleams in the low light, a dash of moist, milky color shining along the puffy slit. He breathes against it, his gaze affixed to the taut planes of Holden’s face, the slip of his eyelids over glistening pupils rolling back. There’s a small, choked noise that spills from Holden’s slack lips when Bill leans forward, taking it past his lips, down against the wet glide of his tongue. 

“Oh God, oh God …” Holden pants, his hips writhing beneath the slow, steady descent of Bill’s lips. 

Bill breathes gradually through his nose, trying in vain to steady the thunder of his pulse. He can feel it pounding through every inch of him, making it difficult to breathe, not just with Holden’s cock going toward the back of his tongue but with the burden of his doubts and fears at last sloughing from his shoulders. A whole other world is opening up behind his eyelids, and he likes the taste of Holden’s cock in his mouth; and he isn’t ahamed, isn’t worried what the world would think, what Nancy would think. He doesn’t think about anything but this moment, Holden coming undone beneath him by the simple stroke of his lips. 

“Oh fuck,” Holden whines, his toes digging into the sheets and his fingers tugging at the nape of Bill’s hair. “Oh yes, yes-”

Bill adjusts his grasp on the base of Holden’s cock, and begins to stroke his hand up to meet the slick push of his lips. The wet sound of it fucking into his mouth meets Holden’s fractured moans, the paired sounds making Bill dizzy with satisfaction. His half-shut eyes glimpse Holden’s arched back, his hand tugging helplessly at the sheets, his face pinched with immense pleasure, and he feels his own cock jolt with aroused hunger. 

Holden gasps out a disappointed noise as Bill draws back, letting his cockhead pop from his mouth. 

“What’re you …?” He mumbles, his eyes slipping open deliriously to implore Bill for more. 

But Bill is already gathering his legs up, pushing Holden's feet up against his shoulders, and applying his mouth to an even more intimate part of his body. 

Holden freezes, his toes curling tightly against Bill’s shoulders. Bill can gauge the shudder that runs through him with the tip of his tongue swirling wetly against Holden’s puckered opening. 

“Oh my god.” Holden whimpers, the word tearing with ragged shock and awe from the back of his throat. His eyes blink in bewildered pleasure up at the ceiling as his body sinks into the sensation, hips rocking up against the persistent friction of Bill’s tongue. 

Bill pauses to plant a wet kiss against the underside of Holden’s ass cheek, his exhilarated breath surging hotly down Holden’s saliva-slick cleft. 

“Can I touch you?” Bill whispers, his fingers edging up against Holden’s asshole. 

Holden’s gaze shoots down at him, mouth moving in wordless disbelief. He swallows hard, clutching a hand to his forehead. 

“You okay?” Bill presses, clutching Holden’s thigh closer, and branding another assuring kiss to asscheek. 

Holden nods, his breaths coming feverishly. 

“Yes, I …” He whispers, almost choking on the words before he pushes on. “I want you to- .. with your hand, your um … your fingers.”

Bill leans forward to dizzle more saliva from his mouth to Holden’s quaking hole. When it’s running down the cleft, he pushes his thumb into the heady glaze, and rubs it in a slow, massaging circle over the opening. 

“Ohh.” Holden chokes out, his back arching. “Bill-”

“Relax.” Bill urges, pushing his thumb up against the hole. 

Holden nods, his body sinking back down against the sheets. 

Bill eases his hand forward, watching Holden’s expression shift from anticipation to alarm to pleasure in the space of a few seconds as his body is breached by Bill’s index finger. On the inside, he’s tight and hot, muscles quivering against the invasion before lapsing to accept it. The sensation of it goes directly to Bill’s head, a dizzying rush of momentum and need, the answer to a fantasy he’s long tried not to think of; in this moment, he can’t remember his denial or his shame, only the persistent need that had plastered the thought of doing this - and everything else - to Holden across the walls of his mind late into the hours of the night. 

When his finger is rubbing steadily into Holden, Bill leans forward to catch his throbbing cock in his mouth again. The two ministrations move in rhythm, his finger thrusting deep as he sucks down Holden’s cock, hooking and grinding against the sensitive places buried deep inside as lips apply firm suction. 

Holden gasps and shudders through the first few moments, his body tremulous and overwhelmed by the persistent stimulation, but soon enough, he goes still and rigid, every fiber hanging on the verge of climax. 

“Oh, fuck …” He whispers, his hips rocking stiffly against Bill’s mouth. “Bill, I’m close. I’m-”

Bill keeps going, opening his eyes to watch Holden’s expression unravel from sharp focus to abject pleasure. He sucks down on Holden’s cock and rocks his finger into the hot clutches of his body until the last moment, until Holden is shivering uncontrollably and warning in broken whimpers, “Fuck, I’m coming. I’m coming.”

Pulling off of Holden’s cock, Bill catches the slick, trembling shaft in his hand to urge the orgasm into full-blown realization. His finger is lodged inside, rubbing firmly against the swollen bud of Holden’s prostate when it hits, clamping everything tight, making every inch shiver and spasm.

Holden’s mouth stretches open as he comes, breathless whines etching from the back of his throat. Arching beneath the touches, he pushes his feet desperately against Bill’s shoulders to ground himself while the climax rips wide open, milky streams of cum gushing from his cock to spatter his chest and belly. 

Bill watches the spasms roll through him with his teeth pinched over a satisfied smile and his hand working firmly, generously over Holden’s spitting cock. A sense of relief fills his chest, not just that he’s finally given up on his own misgivings, but that Holden had let him touch him at all - that he’d let him touch him so fervidly, so copiously, in all the ways he’d imagined for years - and that he had enjoyed it so thoroughly.

As Holden sinks down against the sheets, Bill retrieves both his hands, and leans over to grab some kleenex from the nightstand. They both breathe raggedly into the dark silence as Bill wipes off his hands, and uses another handful to clean up Holden’s stomach and chest. 

Holden watches him quietly, leaving both his hands laying limply above his head while Bill smooths the tissue down his damp skin. 

“What?” Bill murmurs, unable to take the stoic, penetrating observation any longer. 

“Nothing.” Holden says, then clasps both hand over his his face, groaning, “Fuck, Bill. You know. Everything.”

Bill tosses the soiled tissues in the trash can, and lays down next to Holden with his elbow propped under him. He gently pries Holden’s hands away from his face, replacing the overwhelmed press of his palms with a fervent kiss. 

Holden lets his hands drift away as Bill’s mouth thrills across his lower lip, working deeper, pinning his mouth up and open to the caress. He pushes his mouth into it, and clasps his hand over Bill’s hip. It stakes it claim there, lingering impotently for a long moment before his fingers begin nudging, working their way between their clasped bodies to find Bill’s cock hard against his trousers. 

“Fuck.” Bill hisses, pulling his mouth instantly from the kiss once he feels Holden’s hand cradling him. 

Holden draws in a hitched breath, and begins to move his hand up and down. The inadequate friction grinds against Bill’s fragile composure, drawing a raspy groan from his throat. 

Leaning back, he tugs eagerly at the zipper of his pants. Holden’s hand wriggles its way past his own, creeping beneath the waistband of his boxers with surprising quickness. All at once, his hand is gripping Bill’s cock, bare skin on bare skin, the wild beat of his pulse contained in the feather soft palm. 

“Oh, Jesus. Fuck.” Bill groans, his hips automatically lunging against the slight caress. 

Holden hums a pleased sound as he continues working his hand up and down, firming the touch to match Bill’s desperation. 

“Take those off.” Holden urges, casting an impatient glance down at Bill’s trousers and boxers still wrapped around his hips. “I want to see you.”

Bill rushes to comply, shoving the pants down around his knees before he hastily kicks them off. He spills onto his back as Holden presses closer, right hand still clutching Bill’s cock while the other plants itself against his chest. 

Bill, unaccustomed to being on his back in bed, tries to push up on his elbows, but Holden pins him down with a kiss. All the breath seems to knock free of Bill’s lungs as Holden’s mouth claims his, defiant and hungry, suddenly, delightfully dominant. 

When their mouths disconnect with paired, husky breaths, Holden gazes at him with a coy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“Lay back and let me do this.” He says. 

“Okay.” Bill says, holding up his hands. “Gladly.”

“Good.” Holden murmurs, shifting down between his legs. “You have no idea how many times I’ve fantasized about this - sucking on your big, hard cock.”

Bill barely has time to ingest this dirty remark much less conjure a half-decent reply before Holden’s mouth ducks down to suck his cock in. The hot, wet sensation of Holden’s mouth clinging onto him acts like a spark to low-burning kindling, plunging him past simmering arousal directly into the hot clutches of pleasure. 

“Fuck!” Bill groans, grabbing at Holden’s hair as sparks of pleasure fly behind his clamped eyelids. 

Holden surges into a determined, steady rhythm, mouth riding up and down Bill’s cock with a purposeful passion that seems to siphon the last of Bill’s strength from his bones and out through his leaking dick. Everything except the quivering, clamped muscles anticipating climax go weak, leaving him rocking up helplessly against Holden’s mouth and groaning feverishly. 

Holden’s fist curls around the root of his cock, rising up to meet his mouth every time he comes down. The firm massage keeps the thundering blood and need trapped there in his cock, creating a blinding pulse-point of arousal that scrapes raw and persistent against his crumbling composure. He clings limply to Holden’s hair as the slick stroke swallows him down again and again, leaving no option to delay orgasm. 

“Holden, fuck, wait.” Bill pants, delirious, yet wanting this moment to go on just a few minutes longer. 

Holden’s mouth comes off his cock for two seconds, only to mutter, “Shh.”

“I’m gonna come.” Bill groans, tugging haplessly at Holden’s hair while his mouth continues to work brilliant, deviant satisfaction on his burgeoning need. “Wait. I don’t wanna come yet. Fuck-”

Holden hums against his cock, either paying no mind to Bill’s protests or being further amused by them. The slick sound of his mouth sucking down Bill’s cock fills the impending silence as Bill loses his breath and voice, watching powerlessly as the wave of orgasm rises up to greet him. 

“I’m coming. Fuck, I’m coming-” Bill whispers, hoarsely just before he feels the first spasmic twinge of pleasure clamp through his middle. 

Holden sucks off his cock just as he starts to come, a thick stream of cum jetting upward and dappling Holden’s chin before he directs the rain of release away from his face. Holden gives a hoarse laugh of satisfaction as Bill cock jolts in his fist, coming hard, spilling copious release across his belly. 

Bill curses through the length of the climax that seems to overpower every inch of his body, hard, deep spasms clenching down into his bones, tingles sweeping out to reach his fingers and toes. His hips lurch wildly through the first half before lapsing down into tender shudders of overstimulation as the scorching hum of orgasm finally begins to recede. 

His eyes slip shut over the lingering afterburn of pleasure as his body sinks limply against the sheets. He feels fragmented, all the little particles of his body scattered by a pleasure so immense he hadn’t thought his body could contain it all; but he’s coming back down slowly, coming back together, pinned down by the touch of Holden’s hand on his body, cleaning up him in the same way Bill had done for him. 

When he opens his eyes, Holden is throwing the tissues over into the wastebasket with no care for his aim. He throws himself down onto Bill’s chest, plastering a fervent kiss to his panting lips. Bill grunts when Holden’s weight lands on top of him, but he quickly adjusts to the pressure on his chest. Wrapping both arms around Holden’s waist, Bill clutches him closer, and returns the passion of the kiss. 

Rolling them over, Bill settles down against the mound of pillows at the head of the bed, and pulls the sheets over top them. Holden snuggles down facing him, pressing attentive kisses to Bill’s chest and neck. 

He pauses with his mouth and nose buried in Bill’s neck, his voice muffled when at last he speaks, “Pinch me.”

“What?” Bill asks, laughing softly. 

Holden leans back, casting him a sheepish smile. “Pinch me. Tell me I’m not dreaming.”

“You’re not dreaming.” Bill assures, stroking his thumb across Holden’s cheek swelling with a smile. “I’m right here with you.”

Holden closes his eyes, giving a pained little laugh. “Fuck.”

“Well, don’t make it sound so horrible.”

“It isn’t.” Holden replies, opening his eyes. His expression sobers. “It’s just- … I should still be angry with you.”

“Yeah.” Bill mutters, averting his gaze from Holden’s penetrating stare. “You’re probably right about that.”

“I spent the last year thinking you didn’t want this.” 

“Holden,” Bill says, softly, shifting a hesitant gaze back to him. “Do you want the truth?”

“Yes. Please.”

“You didn’t want me thinking I wanted this a year ago. Not in Adairsville or Atlanta. Not with me still being married and everything happening with Brian. It was ugly.”

Holden’s eyes soften. “Oh …”

“I didn’t want to have an affair with you. But I couldn’t deal with the thought of wanting you and not having you either. So I did the only thing I could think of - I pushed you away. Maybe that wasn’t the right tactic, but I’m glad it happened like this. After the divorce, after things calmed down with Brian, after I figured out what the fuck I wanted.”

Holden nods, quietly processing the admission. He doesn’t look angry any longer, yet another relief to the lingering anxiety in Bill’s chest. At last, he musters a faint chuckle, and nudges his fist into Bill’s chest playfully. 

“Well, it took you long enough.”

Bill gives a choked laugh, and leans forward to catch Holden’s mouth in his own. He kisses Holden again this time not out of passion, or desire, or desperation, but with purpose - in the way he’d wanted to since Adairsville, in the way he’d meant to last night when he’d finally given up pretending he doesn’t want this. He hopes it’s enough to translate the truth that he’d always needed to have Holden with him, filling out the hollow hole in his chest. 

~

On Tuesday, Holden moves back to his apartment. Two months later, he moves out again this time permanently. They both reasoned that there was no point in Holden paying rent at the place when they’re out of town so much as it is, and when they are in town, he’s mostly spending the evenings at Bill’s house. Nobody questions the arrangement, least of all Brian who was more than overjoyed to discover that his playmate would be taking up permanent residence on the weekends with Dad. 

On the first weekend Holden officially moves in, Nancy drops Brian off. She and Bill watch with faint smiles as he darts past Bill and up to the steps to where Holden is standing on the porch. 

“I’ve been replaced.” Bill says, hardly bothered. 

“Everytime he comes back from here it’s Holden, Holden, Holden.” Nancy says, chuckling softly. “I’m glad to see he has someone to connect with.”

“Me, too.”

“How long is he staying?”

“Well, at least until he finds a new place to stay.” Bill says, skirting past the lie. Some things are better for Nancy not to know. “But, um, we … You know, we’ve talked about him just keeping the guest bedroom. He’d pay rent and everything, but the arrangement is working out so far.”

“Really?” Nancy asks, her brow rising. 

“I don’t mind having a roommate.” 

“I’m not complaining.” Nancy says, raising her hands. “It seems good for everyone.”

“So you approve?” 

“Of you subletting your house with a friend? Not moping around this place all on your lonesome anymore?” Nancy asks, giving his arm a good-natured pat. “It’s your life, Bill, but if you care then yes I approve.”

“Well, we agreed to try to do this co-parenting thing together. I want to make sure I’m making the right decisions for Brian.”

“Honestly, I think Brian would be more than upset if Holden moved out again.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Okay, well, I’ll see you on Sunday.” She says, “If you have a chance to free Holden from Brian for a moment, tell him hello for me.”

“Will do.” 

After Nancy pulls away, Bill climbs the steps back to the front door and slips inside. The house is utterly quiet in morning sunlight, but the cheerful shouts coming from the backyard draw him to the patio. 

Holden and Brian are running around the back yard with water guns, both of them already almost entirely drenched. Bill chuckles as he sits down at the patio table and lights a cigarette to smoke absently while he watches them play. He can’t believe this gets to be his life - a version of reality he’d longed for but had never dreamed was a true possibility. 

A little while later, after Brian is worn out, Holden trudges across the yard to where Bill has a six-pack sitting on the table. 

“Looks like you could use one of these.” Bill says, uncapping a bottle and handing it off to Holden. 

“Thanks.” Holden says, sitting down beside him with a weary sigh. “Shit, that kid has a lot of energy.”

“He’s been repressing it.” Bill says, chuckling quietly as he takes a sip of his beer. 

“You’re not kidding.”

Bill sobers as he studies Holden’s profile, his cheeks flushed from exertion and his hair damp from the water gun. The breeze shifts across the yard, making the wet curls dance against his temples. He takes a drink of his beer, and his throat gleams with sweat. 

“I told Nancy.” Bill says, at last. 

Holden’s gaze swings to meet Bill’s. “Really? What did she say?”

“She was thrilled, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Bill says, spreading his hands. “She knows Brian loves you, and she thinks it would be good for me to have a roommate and not be ‘moping around this place by myself’.”

“She said all that?”

“Yeah. I know, I was surprised too.” 

“Well, you were married once. I think she wants what’s best for you even if you’re not together anymore.” 

“I suppose.” Bill says, “It’s been slow-going - the healing.”

Holden smiles softly, and leans over to press a kiss to Bill’s cheek. “But it is healing, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Bill murmurs, nudging his thumb against Holden’s chin. “It is.”

He gives Holden a chaste kiss on the mouth before leaning back in his chair to watch Brian climb the ladder to the slide. Brian shouts for both of them to watch before diving down the slide feet-first. Holden cheers him on, and reaches over to hold Bill’s hand. The sun peeks out from behind the clouds, bathing the yard in clean, invigorating warmth. The birds are singing and his son is laughing again; the love of his life is holding his hand. His heart feels quieted, at rest, and happy for the first time in a long time. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to everyone who read/commented. Your encouragement means the world to me and makes me want to keep writing this pairing forever ❤
> 
> SN: New fic coming either next week or the week after so stay tuned!
> 
> I'm [prinxcesskayy](https://prinxcesskayy.tumblr.com//) on Tumblr!


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